


Duck Duck Duck

by ieroangel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, Frerard, M/M, Revenge Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieroangel/pseuds/ieroangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard get a duck named Puddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duck Duck Duck

Frank opened the door to the tour van to see Gerard missing from their small group of five. He glanced at Ray and Mikey, who shrugged, then Bob, who muttered something about maybe alcohol. Frank slid out of the van at even the mention of that word; he knew what Gerard could do to himself, drugged up, depressed, and sick. 

Frank pretty much tore through the park that the van was parked by right then, dashing around the shitty variety of bushes and roses and trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of raggedy black hair or even a torn piece of jacket material on a plant, maybe a whiff of cigarette smoke or booze or vomit. Nothing gave away even a miniscule hint. There was only a nearly silent fountain in the center of the park, and that was when he saw it.

Gerard was leaning over the fountain as if he was trying to drown himself. Frank leapt over the nearest vegetation and towards the fountain as fast as he could possibly run. Upon reaching Gerard he pulled his head up by his hair to only see Gerard mutter an “ow!” and lean back down, giggling at a duck.

Oh, hell no.

In the pool of the fountain, amidst coins and floating trash, a fluffy-as-hell yellow duckling was swimming around Gerard’s head, poking at it with its beak and making a sort of chirpy quacking noise. 

“His name is Puddle,” said Gerard, all drunken soft innocence.

“Okay, Gee,” said Frank. “C’mon, we need to get you back to the van. We’re leaving.”

“Can I take Puddle?” said Gerard, looking up at Frank with big eyes.

Frank was not exactly sure whether possession of a wild duck was even legal in the United States, but then again, the various drugs that Gerard was addicted to were not exactly legal either, and he figured a duck was a safer bet.

“Course,” said Frank, and watched as Gerard scooped up the tiny duck from the pool and snuggled it into his left jacket pocket.

“Okay,” said Gerard. “We’re ready.”

Frank resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and took Gerard by the am rather firmly, leading him back to the van.

“You’re back,” said Bob. “Where was he this time?”

“Park,” said Frank, gesturing towards it.

Mikey got up to give Gerard one of those awkwardly brotherly hug-high-five things and Gerard jumped back as Mikey leaned into his left side.

“Don’t crush him!” he yelped, and put a hand over his left pocket protectively.

“Who?” Mikey wondered aloud, and Frank had to explain that Gerard had picked up a duckling friend by the fountain, and it had been dubbed Puddle.

“Who’s driving?” said Gerard, one hand still in his pocket.

“I am,” said Ray, giving the rest the of-course-you-had-to-get-drunk look, and getting into the front seat.

As the van started moving, Gerard pulled the duckling out of his pocket and showed it to Frank.

“Look, Frankie,” he said, taking one of Frank’s tattooed hands and placing the duck into it. “Puddle.”

Frank smiled, he meant, the duck was pretty damn cute.

“Hi, Puddle,” said Frank, as if Gerard was a child and Puddle was an imaginary friend that was having tea.

“Quack,” said Puddle, and he hopped off Frank’s hand and bit the fabric of the seat with his little beak.

Frank had decided that Puddle was a boy duck, well, at least that was what Gerard seemed to think.

“Frankie, can Puddle sleep in my bed?” said Gerard in that soft voice again.

“We’ll see,” said Frank, as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.

They split into the regular groupings: Ray and Mikey in one room, Bob in another, and Frank and Gerard in a third. Well, Frank, Gerard, and Puddle.

“Why the fuck is he called Puddle, anyway?” said Frank, brewing coffee in their room’s shitty coffee maker. They had been able to afford a decent hotel at the end of the tour, but the coffee still sucked ass.

“Well,” said Gerard, taking the mug that Frank handed him. “Ducks swim in water, and puddles are made of water, and I found him in a fountain which was kind of like a PUDDLE and it rained yesterday and so I just figured. Plus he looks like a Puddle.”

Gerard took a gulp of coffee.

“Damn, this sucks,” he said, a few minutes later. “The coffee, I mean.”

 

Gerard picked up the duck and headed to the fire escape outside their window, where he took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Is that healthy for the duck?” Frank said.

“He’s a punk rock duck,” called Gerard. “He’s too punk rock for health.”

“Okay,” said Frank. “But you could get Puddle taken away for, you know, animal abuse.”

Puddle quacked, and hopped out of Gerard’s right hand, which also held a lighter.

“Don’t fucking fall!” said Gerard, giggling, and scooping up the duckling with both hands, he stood up and crushed the cigarette beneath his foot.

He climbed into the window and shut it tightly, collapsing onto the bed. Frank wanted more than anything to collapse next to Gerard on the bed and play the sort of snuggle-kiss sort of game that they always did when they were half drunk in a hotel room, but you know, there was a fucking duck.

Gingerly, Frank placed himself next to Gerard. 

“Should I get something for, um, Puddle?”

“He can sleep in the hamster cage that I bought for the hamster I was gonna get.”

“Right then,” said Frank, picking up the duck from Gerard’s chest and locking it safely in the cage that they still carried around for no reason whatsoever.

Frank then collapsed next to Gerard, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Gerard’s middle and letting him sort of cuddle into his chest.

“Quack,” said Puddle.

“Fuck you,” said Frank, eyeing the duck, and Gerard made a sad little squeak.

“Duck you,” Frank said, again, eyeing the goddamned duckling, and let himself fall asleep.

***

“Frank, wake the fuck up!” Gerard was saying.

Frank blinked his eyes open.

“Are you sure you locked the cage?”

The door to the hamster cage was swinging open and its inhabitant was missing entirely. Frank rubbed the hangover from his eyes and rolled out of bed.

“Hell yeah, I mean, ducks don’t typically like hotel rooms, it could’ve run off.”

“Puddle,” said Gerard sadly, looking out the window.

“They say if you love something set it-“

“Fuck that,” Gerard said. “We don’t need a duck on tour anyway.”

***

It was a couple years later, 2013, and Puddle was smacking against the window of Gerard Way’s house.

SMACK.

SMACK.

SMACK.


End file.
